A Selfish Want (one shot)
by Aldrea Alien
Summary: When Morrigan offered my Amell Grey Warden her ritual, a particular question that she'd asked me before actually stuck in my head. I sort of wanted to know just what Zevran would've made of the situation, but I couldn't ask him in the game. This is my answer to that...


Daylen stared out at the dark mass of Ferelden's army surrounding Redcliffe. Come tomorrow, marched to face the bulk of the Darkspawn horde. Good men and women would die whilst he … the Grey Wardens, all three of them, sought out the Archdemon. _And die_. There was a way out, a chance to eliminate the major risk involved in taking the final blow. He'd convinced Morrigan to give him some time to think it over.

Looking at it from the outside, it didn't seem like a bad deal. One night of sex with a woman he'd previously lain with—repeatedly so—and the risk was gone. He would _survive_ killing the Archdemon. _Cheat death_. But why should he be allowed to do so when those in the camps below had even less of a chance at surviving?

The door creaked open. Soft, barely audible footsteps entered the room. Only one person he knew who could move so lightly. _Zevran_. The man walked like he needed to remain unnoticed even when entering a place he had every right to be in. "Is it selfish to not want to die?"

The footsteps stopped. "Such a question." There was mirth in the elf's voice, but he knew the man well enough to catch the note of concern such jesting attempted to hide. "My brave and conquering hero worries about the coming battle, yes?"

He faced Zevran, staring at the man he'd grown to love as if doing so could stop time itself. If this night never ended, if it froze right here, then no one else would need to die. "I…" Should he tell him everything he'd learnt tonight? He'd been debating it with himself for the last hour and had come no closer to a conclusion.

The good-natured quirk of Zevran's lips flattened. "Daylen?" In one word, the flimsy attempt at masking his concern vanished.

He gestured to the bed. "Sit."

Zevran settled on the edge. One blond brow lifted when Daylen didn't go to his side. "I admit, you now have me intrigued."

Daylen took a deep breath and, in a voice that didn't remotely sound like his own, he told his lover everything he'd learnt about the order he'd joined. He spoke of what was done to make a Grey Warden different from other people. Of why _only_ a Grey Warden could take down the Archdemon and, most importantly, what would happen to the one who did.

Through it all, he stared unwavering at the elf's face. Saw the horror growing in those honey-coloured eyes. He wanted to stop speaking, to laugh it off as some cruel joke, but he couldn't. If anyone deserved to know the truth, it was the one who had, despite himself, managed to capture his heart.

With those basics covered, Daylen swiftly turned to Morrigan's offer. One night and whatever spell her blood magic wrought would secure a child. A child he would never see. A child with the soul of an old god, a _Tevinter_ god no less. If he could get away with it, could ensure that everyone would still be safe, he would've refused her then and there.

At last, he fell silent and, exhausted, collapsed into a chair. The room seemed colder, even with the fire roaring at his back, as he waited for Zevran to respond. For now, the elf merely frowned at the floor, clearly trying to make sense of everything.

"This ritual of Morrigan's. You chose that, yes?"

"I—" _Chose_? Zevran thought he was being told of what Daylen had done? He'd never been that blatant about his past dalliances to anyone and he wasn't about to start now. "I am to give her an answer within the hour." An unambiguous 'no'.

Zevran's frown deepened. "You said _a_ Grey Warden. Alistair also fits the requirement, yes? Or that man we freed?"

"Apparently, Riordan's too far gone to the taint for the ritual to work and as for Alistair…" He sighed. Daylen had gotten as far as lifting his hand to knock on the man's door before deciding against it. "I've not the heart to inflict Morrigan upon him." Maker, what sort of a friend could he call himself if he talked Alistair into such an act knowing how the man felt about the witch?

The assassin leapt to his feet. "So you instead choose what? Death?" Anger, hot and sharp, flashed across Zevran's face, warring with the hurt in his eyes. "You plan to go into battle knowing you've an even bigger chance of dying than those men." He jabbed a finger at the window as if it were a dagger. "And you tell me because … why?"

"I love you." The words were out before he could stop them. He'd never spoken them to a single soul before, hadn't thought he'd ever care enough about someone to want to, and now … well, he couldn't face even the chance of death without saying them.

Zevran had gone still at the admittance, shock banishing all other emotions from his face. Oh, the man would already be aware of how he felt, just like Daylen figured out the elf's feelings well before Zevran had been prepared to admit them. But even so, to _hear_ such a thing, to have undeniable confirmation … well, Daylen knew how that felt, too.

Zevran rubbed the back of his neck. "_Mi amor_," he whispered, sighing. He crossed the space between them in long, deliberate strides. "If your survival is dependent on whatever spell Morrigan can work, then go."

He looked away, unable to face those honey-coloured eyes. "I am done with being a cheat." He'd been nothing but since the moment he set foot outside of the Circle. First to Morrigan, then Leliana … even if she didn't think of their mutual dalliance with the pirate woman as such, he and Zevran had certainly strayed into that territory the night after destroying his former home. Daylen had made his choice since then. He would not give the elf anything less than his whole self.

Zevran's shoulders trembled with mirthless laughter. "And I am not so petty that I would rather mourn your passing than let her have you for a time." He caressed Daylen's cheek. "_Go_. Do what you must and come back to me."

His gaze swung back to the elf's face. He searched for some sign that he shouldn't obey. There was none. Old grief might have lurked in the corners, and that oddly familiar sorrow tightened his features, but his expression was completely serious. "It's that easy for you, huh?"

"Easy?" He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I would not call this easy, no. _Necessary_, perhaps. You consider yourself selfish for wanting to live, then that makes me doubly so for preferring you _not_ die, yes?"

"Zev…"

He grasped Daylen's robe, clutching the cloth as if was a lifeline. "If we fall to the darkspawn, then so be it, but I am _not_ losing you to the Archdemon when Morrigan offers a way out. I say _take it_." Feral determination lit his eyes, paralysing Daylen's tongue.

Sudden remembrance hit him. He knew where he'd seen that grief before, when Zevran recounted how he'd lost his previous lover. Daylen silently cursed. How had he forgotten that? He found himself nodding in agreement with the man before he'd fully finished berating himself. He couldn't let Zevran go through _that_ again.

He left the room in silence, his stomach leaden. Doubt continued to gnaw at him even as his feet carried him onwards. His steps grew slower, his boots scuffing along the rugs, as he neared his quarters.

Alistair's chamber came within sight. He stared at the closed entrance. For the second time that night, he considered and dismissed the idea of talking the man into the task. Be it death or Morrigan's absurd spell, he wouldn't ask another to do what he would not.

Daylen halted before the door leading to his room. He didn't _have_ to do this. There was nothing to stop him from walking away. He could spend a few hours wandering the castle, or even the camp, instead. No one would be any the wiser … until it was too late. Then Zevran—

Well, being hated and cursed at for lying had to be better than letting anyone mourn his passing … wasn't it?_ Zev_… His lover's face filled his mind and his hand fell blindly upon the latch. The elf had already mourned once. He wasn't about to risk a second time.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door.


End file.
